In His Arms
by MasksandMirrors
Summary: Sansa is left alone and locked in her room as the castle hosts a ball, but Sandor pays a visit. These are going to be a collection of stories revolved around Sansa's life in King's Landing and her growing relationship with Sandor Clegane.


In His Arms

Sansa sat at her dressing table, staring out of the window across King's Landing; the city was cast in a golden light as the sun began to set. There was to be a ball in the castle that night, but a foolish comment had displeased Joffrey so, after she had gotten ready, he ordered for her to be locked in her room.

Sansa sighed. She had spent hours deciding on her dress, and her hair had never looked more splendid. She laid her head on the desk and closed her eyes. The sound of laughter and music drifted in from the open window and she could smell honey soaked bread and fruit for the guests of the dance. Sandor Clegane's comment came into her head suddenly, that she was a 'little bird trapped in her little bird cage' and it had never felt so accurate. She almost laughed but she was too miserable. She no longer believed that a prince was going to save her, that they were going to gallop off into the sunset together; now she saw the bitter and cruel reality hidden behind the songs and the stories, she was not a little girl anymore, but it would have been nice to have been able to forget everything just for the evening and enjoy herself.

Presently there came a loud knock at the door, Sansa turned round just as Sandor Clegane walked in.

'The King has ordered me to come and check on you', Sandor stated, with his familiar, growly voice.

'How kind', Sansa replied, dryly.

Sandor chuckled and sat down on the bed, helping himself to the jug of wine on the table.

Sansa raised an eyebrow, 'Shouldn't you be on guard at the ball?'

He groaned, 'Bugger the ball, my feet hurt.'

Sansa turned back to the window, looking at a flock of birds that flew out towards the sea, 'I would give anything to be there, dancing and laughing with everyone else. I'm very good at dancing, back at Winterfell the lords and ladies always said how beautiful I looked, although it wasn't hard when compared with Arya; she was always so clumsy she wouldn't even _try_ to dance properly...' She trailed off as memories of dances at home came flooding back to her. She saw Rickon attempting to ride Shaggydog around the hall after the dance had ended, she saw Arya dancing on one of the tables and her mother trying to drag her off, while Robb, Theon, Bran and Jon were laughing so hard at the scene that they had tears running down their cheeks. She saw her father on his seat at the head of the table attempting to look stern, while trying to hide a smile.

Her eyes blurred as unexpected tears threatened to spill out, _'stupid girl'_, she thought.

'It is the dance you want?' Sandor asked, 'or the lost memories that come with it?'

Sansa laughed sadly, 'I want a lot of things but it doesn't mean I will get them. However... it would have been nice to be truly happy for the evening, and not have to pretend.'

Suddenly she felt Sandor's strong grip around her arm as he yanked her to her feet. She looked up at him, confused, while he averted his eyes and pulled her closer, one big hand round her waist and one held out for hers. She hesitated before taking it, thinking about how small and fragile hers looked in his, as though he could easily crush it at any moment. He was so tall, Sansa thought about how odd they must have looked, had anyone come in.

Sandor sensed her discomfort and grinned, 'Hold on tight, little bird', he hoisted her onto his feet. Their intimate stance took Sansa's breath away, she had never been this close to a man before, and she had to admit she was a little scared. Sandor's scarred face looked down on her, waiting for her reaction. She turned her head away to rest on his breastplate. Through it she could hear his heartbeat; she was surprised at how human it sounded, how vulnerable. She also noted its quickened pace and smiled, resting one hand on his shoulder and taking his other hand in hers. With Sandor's big arms surrounding her, for the first time in a very long time, Sansa felt completely safe.

They danced late into the night, until Sansa grew weary; feeling as though she were being rocked to sleep, so gently was it that Sandor held her in his arms. She was dimly aware of him picking her up and carrying her into bed. He pulled the blanket up around her and hesitantly kissed her forehead.

'You looked beautiful', he whispered gruffly, and with that he turned and left the room. As Sansa lay there on the verge of sleep, she thought of how free and light she felt in that moment. It had been no elegant ball, but being with Sandor had made her feel truly happy. She relived the feel of his hand on her waist, of his warm breath on her hair, of his hand in hers. It felt somehow _right_, amidst the chaos and ruin that was her life now.

It felt like hope.


End file.
